


Of Drunks and Dreamers

by Zeef



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Confused Enjolras, Drunk Grantaire, Drunken Flirting, Drunkenness, Enjolras Is Bad At Feelings, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Mythology References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 12:59:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12233346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeef/pseuds/Zeef
Summary: In which both are extremely confused but for very different reasons. Grantaire is very drunk and unsure if Enjolras is truly there, and flirts with him because of that. Enjolras is very confused as to how to deal with an extremely drunk man who keeps flirting with him using ancient Greek myths.





	Of Drunks and Dreamers

**Author's Note:**

> Originally this was written with the intent of being a Grantaire version of 'On My Own' but it turned into something very different. I finished editing it at 1 am so lol I hope you like it.

Grantaire stumbled down the cobbled streets of Paris, bottle in hand. It was an average night, though he was admittedly more drunk than usual. Enjolras had gone on a rant at the meeting about… something... The speech had hit a little closer to home than he'd like to admit, and as usual he tried to drink away the pain. Everything got a bit hazy after that. Generally he was very good at being drunk and still keeping his head, but R passed that point of no return a bottle ago. 

The meeting had ended after he'd gotten in a fight with Enjolras over… over… he was far too drunk to remember what exactly they had fighting about. Grantaire assumed it had something to do with revolution, but they'd argued about other things in the past, so he didn't want to assume. He remembered that beautiful face being inches from his own, eyes filled with righteous fury… and then walking down the streets in the direction he believed was towards his modest apartment. There was likely a missing section in his memory between those two things, but it didn't really matter. 

He sucked some wine down, stumbling backwards as he did. Why had he left? Had the moment been too much for him? Had Enjolras sent him away again? Had he stormed off angrily? Did it really matter? One of the others would catch him up and tell him what he forgot like always. It wasn't worth worrying about. Grantaire continued on his way, very unsteady, and not really seeing what he was doing because everything was blurry and double what it should be. That didn't matter either. He had a bottle in his hand that he would continue drinking until he got to bed. That was what mattered.

When he was grabbed by the shoulder and spun around, Grantaire nearly threw up all the wine and bread in his stomach as the world spun around them. It took him a few moments to comprehend what he was seeing, and it was enough of a shock to cause his rebellious fingers to release the bottle. There, in the flickering light of the street lamps, was Apollo himself. The candlelight made his golden curls fluffier, and his beautiful eyes to have gold aspects to them. His coat was the same bright red, but seemed a much warmer shade than the usual angry color it was any other time. Grantaire swayed on his feet, taken aback by the beauty before him.

He was making a face. He had been speaking and R had completely missed it. Stupid idiot! Now Enjolras was looking at him, expecting a response, but all Grantaire could focus on was the warmth of the hand on his shoulder and just how close they were. All he could see was the way the dim light shone off of Apollo’s cheeks, showing the detail of the masterpiece. R held onto the other's coat to remain upright as he contemplated what to do. Was this even real? Perhaps he'd fallen asleep in an alley and didn't know it?

Enjolras didn't love him. He couldn't. The revolution was far more important than lonely souls. Besides, Grantaire was aware that he was ugly and often cynical and pessimistic, the exact opposite of the man in front of him. Even if Apollo wasn't trying to change the world, Grantaire wouldn't be on his list of favorite people. R dreamed that one day they would be able to be together and happy and at peace without fighting, but it was just a silly day dream he made up while watching Enjolras at meetings and nothing more.

A few quick pats on the cheek brought him back to the present, with a concerned looking Enjolras looking back at him as his eyes focused. “How much did you drink tonight, and tell the truth,” he said in a stern tone.

Grantaire thought it was awfully unfair of him to force him to math while drunk, but he didn't complain. “Ah… two? Three?” R replied, slurring.

Enjolras sighed, exasperated, and wrapped the inebriated man's arm around his shoulders, beginning to lead him home. Grantaire assumed they were heading towards his apartment anyway, though he'd follow the other anywhere. “Clearly you are too drunk to take part in the conservation we need to have. You really need to learn self discipline…” Apollo muttered, though Grantaire lost track of the rant soon enough. 

By the time the pair got to R’s simple apartment, Enjolras had managed to get himself into a tizzy about overworked help in the wine business. Grantaire had missed the majority of it, but still enjoyed the sound of his Apollo’s voice. Enjolras took Grantaire's keys from him and unlocked the door, because the other couldn't find the right key by himself, and led him to his bedroom. 

“You really should clean this place every once in awhile,” Enjolras muttered as he placed Grantaire in the bed. As R sat on the bed, Enjolras started picking up the bottles scattered around the room and taking them out. He didn't touch the heaps of sketches though, which Grantaire was glad about.

“Don't… touch… the papers,” he groaned from the bed, laying back as Enjolras cleared the bottles away.

“Fine, but the empty bottles don't need to be everywhere,” Apollo huffed, cleaning up still. 

“They’re you mostly,” he said, and almost missed when he tried to cover his eyes with his hand.

Enjolras looked over at him, confused. Part of him wanted to look and see what the drunk meant, but he didn’t want to go against what R asked him to do. “What do you mean, they’re mostly me?”

“It’s ‘cause I drew you. They’re you. ‘Cause you’re Apollo,” Grantaire slurred in response, moving his hand so he could see his reaction.

Enjolras rolled his eyes and continued cleaning up. “I am not Apollo. I am far more of a Prometheus.”

“You have fire but no king of heaven would punish you for it. You give light but it’s warm and kind,” he said in a mumble, sitting back up so he could watch him better. This probably wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real. Enjolras seemed to flicker in the candlelight, or at least Grantaire’s imagination made him do so. He couldn’t tell. Either way, he was going to soak this in for as long as possible, because his Apollo would never be in his apartment in real life.

Enjolras stared at him again, because this was entirely out of character for Grantaire and he didn’t know how to respond to this. Their relationship was simple, they were opposites who balanced each other out and didn’t really get along. If Enjolras didn’t know any better, and his friends would say he didn’t because he rarely ever did, he’d say this was some form of flirting. He stood there awkwardly for a moment before continuing to clean up, not really knowing what else to do with the drunk. He was obviously beyond drunk, or else he would never say such, unusual and oddly kind things to him. The statement barely made any sense and yet… and yet Grantaire was staring at him like it did.

“Why are you here? Why did you take me home?” R asked, finding it more difficult to speak clearly as exhaustion and the last of the alcohol filled his system.

The ‘fearless leader’ stopped and looked at him for a moment, trying to decipher if Grantaire was joking or not this time. “You really have no idea?”

Grantaire shook his head, which turned out to be a bad idea and he gripped his spinning head in an attempt to make it better. He really couldn't remember what exactly happened, nor could he remember what Enjolras had said when he first stopped him. If his Apollo was there in his apartment, actually there, it must have been something important. If only he could remember… in all likelihood he would wake up without any memory of this little thing at all, and would be very confused when all the bottles were placed in one corner of his little apartment.

“Perhaps it's better that way. I'll leave you to sleep. We can discuss what happened in the morning. Goodnight, Grantaire,” Enjolras said shortly, heading for the door.

Grantaire stood and grabbed his arm, much to the other's confusion. “My dear Apollo, you wouldn't weep for me, a simple mortal man. I am no Hyacinth to you. But as this is all a dream and not real, could you not pretend, dear spectre?”

Enjolras blinked a few times, trying to reassess the situation. He had never been terribly good with this sort of… feeling mess… He had always stuck to what he knew, and what he knew was love of the people and the country. It wasn’t that no one had ever flirted with him before, because with a face like his, and a good family to match, he was a good catch for most girls. He had never taken much notice of anyone himself, not that he cared to think about anyway, so professions of love were not things he was used to. Also, he didn't quite know what to make of the fact that Grantaire didn't believe this was real. “I am no spectre,” Enjolras finally said, terribly confused.

“Such as a spectre would say. Will you pretend for me either way?” he asked, practically hanging off of Enjolras.

“I believe you ought to go to bed, Grantaire, before you faint in my arms,”

“Oh that would be the dream. To fall into your arms, into peaceful slumber…”

“Go to bed!” Enjolras cried, practically dragging the other towards the thing. Grantaire wasn't in a position to fight him on it but he shifted his weight slightly, sending them both onto the bed. Enjolras was getting more and more frustrated, but Grantaire didn't seem to be about to let go of him. He manhandled the drunk to lay correctly on the bed and began trying to extract himself. Once the other finally released him, he huffed and said “Good night, Grantaire,” as he began to get up.

“Good night,” he whispered back, giving him a quick kiss before rolling away and allowing the alcohol to whisk him to sleep.

Enjolras stood there, staring at him with confused for a moment before scratching his head and heading out of the apartment, locking the door on his way out. He had no idea what had just occurred, though it might explain his argument during the meeting, that love was important, even in their dangerous situation. Enjolras headed out into the night, thinking about what had transpired and trying to figure out how he felt about it. He would certainly go to Combeferre and Courfeyrac about it in the morning, because they always knew what to do.

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the way Enjolras' feelings are described, "never taken much notice of anyone himself, not that he cared to think about anyway" was from my own experience of not really feeling attraction to anyone until I started really thinking about the possibility of dating girls. Thought it fit him a bit? The, not really thinking about anyone that way because "there are more important things" and then thinking about maybe dating a guy and then going "oh shit wait this could be a thing".


End file.
